


Keep away from the Little Deaths

by Bluebluebaby



Category: No Offence (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, look we never saw Joy's body I'm just saying this could be canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-08-22 08:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16594529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Set post s2 into s3.Spoiler alert: JOY DOESN'T DIE IN THIS ONE(eventual joy/dinah)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from my main man, carl sandburg. ("Joy," duh.)

Dinah feels like she’s been punched in the gut. 

 

(She’s been smashed in the forehead already today, and covered in someone else’s blood, but as far as she knows, her stomach is physically intact. It just feels like shit.) 

 

She never thought Joy betray her trust- but it’s only thanks to Aidan that there’s the smallest chance that Cathy will ever talk to her again.

 

Viv, she would expect it from. Would tolerate. Might even deserve, given all the shady shit she’s put her through. 

 

But Joy and Tessa are the only people in the world she can’t hold a grudge against- she can only bury the hurt deeper, and fake a smile as Joy tends to her wounds, cleaning the cut with antiseptic before applying butterfly closures. 

 

“Are you just planning to get a new scar for every major case?” 

 

Dinah shrugs, simultaneously wincing from and leaning into Joy’s gentle touch. 

 

“Easier to explain away physical trauma to potential suitors than baring the wounds of my psyche.” 

 

“You can’t save everyone, Dinah,” Joy frowns, thinking back to all the times Dinah’s put herself in harm’s way. 

 

“But I can try. Someone’s got to, right?” 

 

Joy rolls her eyes, dramatically putting her hand over her heart. 

 

“My heroooooo.” 

 

“I could remind you that you’re the one that put Donna in that position, or we could get absolutely twatted. Your choice.”

_

 

Joy’s a cuddly drunk. As the night goes on she leans against Dinah, resting her head on her shoulder, holding her hand. Dinah’s come to expect it at this point- Joy’s baseline is more affectionate than hers to begin with, and after a certain point, it’s easier to accept Joy’s clinginess than to risk causing a crying fit by avoiding it. 

 

(And truth be told, she doesn’t mind the warm weight against her- it’s got a calming effect, like Temple Grandin’s hug machine.) 

 

They’ve foregone a night at the pub for cheap wine and mindless telly- Joy is normally quite opinionated about  _ Love Island,  _ but she doesn’t make any judgy comments whatsoever. Dinah’s concerned, frankly. 

 

“Will you ever forgive me?” 

 

(The words are whispered into Dinah’s shirt, so faint she feels them more than hears them.) 

 

“Already have done.” 

 

Joy doesn’t bother apologizing- they both know that she’s not sorry, that any other sergeant would have made the same decisions, that it only hurts so fucking much  _ because _ it’s Joy. 

 

“I don’t know how anyone could kiss a practical stranger with the whole world watching.” 

 

“You’ve obviously never watched porn.” 

 

(It’s an easy jab, but seeing Joy flustered makes Dinah feel like she has the upper hand again, if only for a moment.) 

 

“I’m talking about emotional intimacy. No one’s getting their heart broken in  _ Girls Gone Wild _ .”

 

“People will do a lot of stupid shit for the faint promise of money.”

 

Joy harrumphs, slouching further into the sofa. 

 

“I’m sorry about Ewan, Joy. All of it.” 

 

“Guess we’re even then, huh?” 

 

Joy’s voice turns bitter, her anger still fresh. 

 

“You’re allowed to- even if he was a bastard, even if he did terrible things, you’re still allowed to feel your feelings about it. You have to, or-” 

 

“Or what? I’ll end up like you? Making rash decisions and setting my professional life on fire?” 

 

“You’re too good to end up like me and Viv, Joy.” 

 

“You all laugh behind my back every chance you get. No- don’t interrupt me with excuses. Sure, we’re a team at work, even though  _ everyone _ knows you should’ve gotten the promotion over me, but my personal life is a bloody joke to you. If I were more like you two, maybe you’d respect me.” 

 

“I do respect you.” 

 

“You certainly don’t act like it.” 

 

“You and I both know I speak before I think more often than not. But I’ll try to do better.” 

 

“And frankly, I think the whole Morton situation proves my point that it’s unwise to sleep with someone before you know them.” 

 

“So you didn’t…” 

 

“No! Jesus, we hadn’t kissed but once when you and Viv launched your surveillance. And you were right, so enjoy it.” 

 

“I didn’t want to be. Honestly.” 

 

Joy blinks back hot tears. 

 

“I just feel like such an idiot. And I don’t know which is worse, you all laughing at me or pitying me.” 

 

“Being open-hearted doesn’t make you an idiot, Joy, it makes you _ you. _ ”

 

“Yeah, well, a whole lot of good that’s done me.” 

 

“C’mon, there are a handful of good guys out there- well, at least like, three, and if anyone deserves one it’s you.” 

 

Joy shrugs, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her sleeves. 

 

“Now can we laugh at these twats and ignore the fact that we witnessed a gruesome death today?” 

 

*******

 

The dreams start after Joy’s promotion. 

 

Dr. Peep would probably say that repeated reveries about Dinah cornering her in the ladies’/Viv’s office/surveillance van and sticking her hand down her knickers are her subconscious’s expression of feelings of insecurity about being in a position of authority over Dinah. 

 

Dr. Peep would likely also tell her that getting laid would do her a world of good, and would frankly be more enjoyable for all parties than any sort of psychoanalysis on her part. 

 

(There’s a reason Joy avoids Dr. Peep.) 

 

It’s sort of a running joke that Joy’s been moon-eyed over Dinah since the day they met. 

 

(Joy had been crying in the toilet about some offhand comment Viv had said, and Dinah had ever-so-patiently explained that Viv was often full of shit, but always intentional about her team and who she wanted on it. “If you’re here, it’s because she wants you here- make no mistake.” She’d then explained that if that didn’t help, she had some rainbow Band-Aids in her bag that always made her daughter feel better.) 

 

And maybe she has been infatuated all these years- impressed by Dinah’s feats of danger, warmed by her selflessness and deep compassion for others, but it’s only very, very recently that she’s noticed things like how tight her trousers are or how the glint in her eyes gives Joy a stomachache. 

 

But compartmentalization has never failed Joy before, so she tucks those thoughts as far back into her mind as they can go. Mr. Whiskers is the only one who knows that she wakes in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and short of breath, and immensely,  _ immensely  _ frustrated. 

_

 

In retrospect, the fact that Joy’s formative crushes were Cary Grant, Montgomery Clift, and Rock Hudson was probably an indication of… something. 

 

Turns out, expecting the average heterosexual male to be patient, romantic, and caring is a step too far. 

 

(It follows that Joy’s only serious boyfriend, from Uni, is now married to a lovely Swede named Bjorn.) 

 

Dinah says she has no way to know if there’s chemistry with online dating, Viv says everyone’s a fucking liar and not to come crying when she’s catfished, but Joy likes the excitement of talking to new people without the pressure of an in-person meetup. 

 

She’s good at talking, especially with someone who  _ gets _ it (who doesn’t think the very idea of a female police officer is either ridiculous or a fetish). So when Dinah seems just as glad that she’s got an actual date, she forces herself to ignore the kernel of disappointment that she didn’t detect any jealousy. 

 

Just before she passes out, a stray thought wanders through Joy’s mind. 

 

_ There’s got to be an easier way to end up held in Dinah’s arms.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gun violence/mentions of blood. 
> 
> Exposition dump tbh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um so on the show it looks like Joy was shot practically point blank in the stomach, which, you know, pretty much a hundred percent fatal, so let's just say for the purposes of lesbian shenanigans that it hit her liver instead, k? I did alright in anatomy class but i am definitely not a medical professional, so if you're looking for highly accurate injury descriptions you are in the wrong place.
> 
> please join me in discussing how spike is the fucking worst this series? thanks <3

 

Joy wakes up in a hospital bed, cold and alone. There are no windows in this room, no sounds from the hall. She ponders, for a moment, whether she’s died. 

 

DCI Marchant’s voice suggests otherwise. So does the excruciating pain in her abdomen.

 

“Good. You’re awake. There’s a lot to explain and not much time.” 

 

She waits, expectantly, and Joy nods to indicate that she’s lucid, albeit incredibly confused. 

 

“I’ll brief you on the details later, but in short, you’re both incredibly lucky and rather unlucky. Lucky to be alive- a few inches toward the center and you’d have bled out in minutes. As it stands, your liver’s taken a beating, and your ribs are shattered, so it’ll be bedrest for a good long while. Which is probably for the best, as you’re now in protective custody. If Caroline McCoy knows you’re alive, you’re dead. So, to her, you are.” 

 

When Joy speaks, her voice is raspy and foreign. 

 

“But my dad- Dinah- the squad-” 

 

“Are absolutely heartbroken and making preparations for your funeral as we speak.” 

 

Marilyn gives her a moment to let it sink in, to steady her breath so the pain in her side doesn’t become any worse with unrelenting sobs. 

  
  


“You couldn’t let them know? Not even Viv?” 

 

To her credit, Marilyn has the decency to look rueful. 

 

“I’m sorry, kid. This is bigger than all of us. We’ve swapped your chart out- as long as you’re in hospital you’re Nancy Allen, then as soon as it’s safe to move you you’ll be relocated to a safehouse, with round-the-clock care and protection.”

 

“When- when is it over?” 

Marchant frowns. 

 

“When we’ve got the mad bitch, and it’s time for you to testify. I’m afraid there’s no clear answer there, Joy.” 

 

Joy grimaces, completely exhausted from what can only have been 5 minutes of consciousness. 

 

  
“I’ll have them give you more morphine. Your team loves you very very much, Joy. I promise that we’ll get to the end of this as soon as possible.”

 

Marchant leaves, and the nurse comes back in, commenting on poor Nancy’s awful luck in that robbery, and then she’s asleep.  

 

_

 

Every time Dinah closes her eyes, she sees Joy’s blood on her hands, her look of helplessness. She plays it over and over in her mind, thinking about how if she’d just fucking properly tackled Beckett none of this would have happened. If Spike hadn’t gotten knocked out. If the bloody gun had never gotten past their security. 

 

But all those things did happen, and now Joy is dead, and there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make it stop hurting. 

 

She is drunk enough, however, that when Spike kisses her, and she closes her eyes on instinct, and kisses back, her imagination conjures the image of Joy behind her eyelids, before the scratch of stubble reminds her that Joy is fucking  _ dead  _ and Spike is a twat. 

 

She didn’t sleep much before this, but now, Dinah is running on fumes and spite and vengeance. 

 

And sure, the team is gutted, Joy’s desk untouched, even her lunch left to spoil in the fridge. But they’re functioning. They manage to look like normal human beings. Dinah feels like she’s flailing for the smallest foothold, not caring what comes of her risk-taking this time. 

 

Besides, she’s finally got her fucking promotion. 

 

_

 

When Joy leaves hospital, she’s wrapped in a about a dozen blankets, three scarves, an oversized hat, comically large glasses, a grey wig, and bunny slippers. Her wheelchair is gingerly loaded into a battered old van, and they depart the city in favour of rolling hills and roaming sheep.  Her handler, a gruff 40-something called Fran, explains to the farmer next door (next door being a mile away), that her mum had a fall, so she’s moving her in while she recovers, but the dear old thing is ornery as, and doesn’t take kindly to strangers, so it’s best to just leave her a wide berth, she’ll be dealing with enough letting the care aides come around and all. 

 

Joy grunts from the back, driving home the point that this old biddy isn’t one to be trifled with. 

 

Fran is no-nonsense, and not in the show-offy way that Viv is, or the brash way that Dinah can be. She’s here to do a job, and that job is to protect Joy, not to befriend her. Joy still sleeps most of the day anyhow- it hurts too much to be awake, and the pills knock her out. Beats having to think about it all.

 

The safe house is austere, but comfortable- hospital bed and a bath with guardrails, old-school telly and vhs, and loads of crossword puzzle books. At least Joy knows what to expect, should she live long enough to reach nonagenarian status. 

 

There’s a lad called Jack who comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays to change her dressings and give her a bath. He’s kind and gentle, but it’s still humiliating and awful and she disassociates during it. The violent bruises on her abdomen begin to fade from purple and black to shades of yellow and green. She begins to tolerate moving from the bed to the sofa, joining Fran in listening to the news and drinking her morning cup of tea. 

 

After two weeks, Joy feels well enough to almost feel hope, so she risks a question.

 

“Any word from DCI Marchant?” 

 

“Didn’t know you could actually talk. Thought ya might have got grazed on the gizzard. I’d give you any news if I had it, love.” 

 

“Is it always this boring?” 

 

Fran laughs. 

 

“It’s a job meant for those who enjoy their own company. But usually I help people assume a new life for keeps, and once they’ve settled in, I move on to the next. You’re special.” 

 

“But if they don’t nab McCoy, then…” 

 

“Then Nancy Allen rides again. But no need to throw darts at the map yet.”

 

“What’s the worst case you’ve ever had?” 

 

Joy distracts herself with Fran’s tales of foolishness, permitting herself to fantasize about how Dinah would handle the same scenarios. 

 

The glimmer of joy underneath the heartache brings a flush to her cheeks. 

 

“You really must love the job, huh? That’s the first sign of life I’ve seen out of you. Once a copper, always a copper.” 

 

The job. Yeah, that’s what it is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry bbs i won't keep them apart for too much longer xoxox


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of out of practice at this sort of thing.

 

Dinah doesn’t cope well with sad. So instead she’s just angry. All the time. She’s angry when she wakes up in the morning, and she’s angry at work, and she’s angry when she gets home and she’s angry when she goes to bed and she’s angry in her dreams. 

 

The others, they frown when they see Joy’s desk, they walk on eggshells around her, but they’re bloody  _ functional.  _ Even Viv keeps it together, keeps her head about her. (Sends Dinah out of harm’s way whenever Caroline McCoy is near.) 

 

Spike tries to be sympathetic, but he also still wants to fuck her, and Dinah’s got plenty of anger to spare for him. 

 

When Tessa quotes Joy at her, throwing her own inadequacies in her face, she crumbles, hiding in Viv’s office. 

 

“I just can’t understand how everyone is still living, still moving, and I feel like I could explode at any moment. Every moment.” 

 

Viv looks at her with all the love and pity in the world (and a bit of incredulousness too, at her own apparent thickness). 

 

“None of those people out there were in love with Joy, Dinah.” 

 

“I-” 

 

“No, you listen. I’m not saying you two were  _ lovers _ , I’m saying you were in love. As much as any two people could be. Doesn’t matter what sort of love it was- Joy was your other half, and I knew it the moment you two met. No matter how much you complained about her.” 

 

Dinah doesn’t know what to say to that, so she lets herself do what she’s needed to do for ages, and breaks down in sobs, as Viv holds her tight. 

 

“It’s alright, Di. I’ve got you. We’ve all got you, okay?” 

 

_ 

 

Despite her lapse into normal teen behavior, Tessa still has the same caretaking instincts she always has. And once it’s all forgiven, and the promises to be better made (the grounding enacted), she makes Dinah talk. 

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more. You deserve better.” 

 

“Working more isn’t going to bring her back, you know that, mum?” 

 

Dinah sighs, pushing aside the popcorn she’d made for their movie night. 

 

“Yeah, but it makes me tired enough I don’t have to think on it too much.” 

 

“Don’t you  _ want  _ to remember her, though?”

 

Dinah feels the pinpricks behind her eyes. 

 

“It hurts too much right now.” 

 

Tess scoots closer on the sofa, taking Dinah’s hands in her own. 

 

“Tell me about the good things. The things I was too young to hear about at the time- bad dates, stupid work stories, all that.” 

 

Dinah nods, and takes Tessa back to the beginning, to tears in the loo and her very own plasters saving the day, the telly forgotten in the background. 

 

“I saw her dad yesterday. He said he’s been looking for a new home for her cat- too much responsibility for him and all.” 

 

“You hate that cat.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Want me to pick him up tomorrow?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

_

 

Joy measures time in changes, not days. Her fringe is long enough now that it’s practically grown out (no point in getting a haircut now- who’d see it?), and she can walk a bit with crutches. Her scars have turned from red to pink. The pain is at a constant 3 now, instead of a 7. 

 

She talks to Fran more, about policing, about politics, about the case. 

 

Not about her life. 

 

But then, one day, Fran takes a call, and just like that, it’s over. 

 

“Alright, love. The time has come. You ever testified as a victim?” 

_

 

Dinah almost doesn’t go to court. But ultimately her desire for revenge wins out over the pain of reliving it all. She wants to see Caroline McCoy’s face when she gets sent down for life. 

 

But then, the prosecution informs the judge that they’ve added a witness to their list, late due to extenuating circumstances, and as soon as Dinah hears the name Joy Freers, her legs have carried her from the courtroom to the grass outside, where she proceeds to violently empty the contents of her stomach 

_

 

Spike follows her, concern wrinkling his brow, hand rubbing circles on her back. 

 

“It’s good news, Dinah, Joy’s alive! It’s alright. It’s alright.” 

 

“I can’t. I- she- we thought- I can’t face it.” 

 

“I’m happy to stay out here with you, you know that.” He inhales through his nose. “But I think Joy would probably feel better taking the stand if you were in there with her.” 

 

Dinah nods, taking his outstretched hand to pull herself back up to a standing position. 

 

Joy looks washed out- pale, tired, more than a little broken. But when Dinah meets her eyes and gives her a small, reassuring smile, she sits up straighter, takes a deep breath, and begins to speak. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hopefully i'll be more consistently back on my bullshit from here on out.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
